“Well, I have only known you for all of forty-eight hours,” she said with a smile.

“Sure, but in that forty-eight hours we had a wedding-speech duel, drank a river of Jack Daniel’s, and there was that striptease…”

“Which could have been horrible for all you know, seeing as your back was turned. Right?”

He merely grinned. “Back to these two fine dates. Any chance they’d want to be interviewed for my article?”

“Um, that’s a hell no. What’s your plan for real though?”

He shrugged. “Ask all the Scarlett O’Haras around here what qualifies as Prince Charming. I’m pretty sure they’ll just point at me.”

She snorted. “I want to argue, but it’s probably true. Women really do seem to adore you. Have you always been so…smooth? What about when you and Katie first got together, you make any missteps?”

It was a risky move, talking about the before version of Katie, but he took it in stride, smiling as he picked up his wineglass, as though the fondness of the memory overshadowed the pain of the later loss.

“Aha! So there was a time when you weren’t perfectly suave,” she said.

“There may have been five minutes, this one time, when I was so enamored with the pretty green-eyed girl sitting at the bar that I uttered the phrase ‘You come here often?’ ”

Daisy laughed. “You did not.”

“I did. And I said it while leaning one arm on the bar, trying to look all cool, only I put my elbow on one of those damn little cocktail napkins, and ended up half sprawled across the bar when it slipped.”

Daisy clapped her hands, delighted. “I’ll bet she was charmed though.”

His eyes went a little shadowed. “Katie told me later that it was the napkin move that made her decide to give me her phone number. She said it was endearing, or some shit.”

“Yes, well,” Daisy patted his arm. “I think that may have been a one-hit wonder sort of thing. You’ll have to do better here in Charlotte than a bad line and falling all over yourself, no matter how pretty you are.”

“How about some tips?”

“Not a chance,” she said, nibbling on a piece of cheese. “I have a front-row seat to Lincoln Mathis being out of his element and I intend to relish every minute of it.”

“You North Carolina girls can’t be that different from New York City girls.”

“Can’t we?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“You’re a Southern girl, and I had you in my bed in one night.”

“Doesn’t count. You may have had me in your underwear, but you never got me out of mine.”

For a half second, she could have sworn she saw his eyes flare with heat, but then the moment passed, and Lincoln glanced down at his watch. “Thirty minutes. That’s how long it took us to get the conversation to underwear. We’re weird together, Wallflower.”

“We are,” she agreed, carefully making sure her voice didn’t come out as breathless as she felt at the thought of him taking off her panties. “More wine, or do you want to see the guesthouse first?”

“Guesthouse. I’m guessing that since you practically have the words perfect hostess stitched into that blouse, the guesthouse is stocked with beer, wine, and liquor of its own?”

“And fresh flowers, and a pitcher of my homemade lemonade. Pink lemonade, because you’re you.”

“You’re good to me,” he said as he stood, grabbing a piece of bread and throwing half to Kiwi before popping the rest in his mouth. “Lead the way.”

A couple minutes later, Lincoln had hauled a suitcase out of the trunk as he followed Daisy toward the guesthouse. Kiwi ran ahead of them, only to circle back every few feet or so as though herding their ankles.

“I left the door unlocked,” Daisy said as she reached for the handle. “But when you leave to go embarrass yourself in the Charlotte dating scene, there’s a keypad so you don’t have to bother with a key. I programmed it to zero-one-one-five, same as your phone.”

Lincoln said nothing as she pushed the door open, leading the way into the guesthouse. Well, not quite leading. That would be Kiwi’s role.

“Well, this is just an absolute hovel,” Lincoln said, taking in the barely used hardwood floors and the dark granite counter of the open-plan kitchen. The guesthouse was dwarfed by the main house—most houses were—but it was still top-of-the-line everything. Gary had wanted it to meet his mother’s exacting standards when she came to visit from Florida.

The appliances were brand-new and stainless steel, the living room outfitted with a massive white sectional and even more massive flat-screen TV.

“Master suite’s that way,” Daisy said, pointing down the hall. “Sheets and towels are clean; there’s more in the linen closet in the bathroom. Second bedroom’s the other way, should you and Kiwi get in a fight and need a break from cuddling.”

“I bet you can guess which one of us sleeps on the proverbial couch when that happens,” he called, hauling the suitcase in the direction of the master bedroom.

Kiwi wasn’t paying attention. She’d found the doggie bowls Daisy had bought just this afternoon, and was happily chowing down on the dog food that the pet store owner had assured Daisy was absolute top of the line.

“You fed my dog,” Lincoln said, coming up behind Daisy.

She turned. “Like you said. Perfect hostess.”